Cherry Pie

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Cherry Pie Page 10

by Madison Faye


  “Marshall, you’re all I want. I don’t want fumbly stupid college boys. I don’t want the hookup scene. I don’t want cheap dating.” She swallows, her eyes ablaze as she squeezes my hands tight and presses herself to me. “I mean why would I? I already found you. I already found the best.”

  She leans up on her toes, and when her lips brush mine, I devour them. She moans into me, my hands sliding around her waist and scooping her into me as I lose myself in that kiss.

  “Kendall, you’re going to college though.”

  She snorts. “Damn right I am,” she winks, grinning at me before her smile fades and her eyes drop.

  “I—I mean, I wouldn’t ever ask you to—”

  “Ask me,” I growl fiercely. “To what, not see other women? To stay with you even if you’re across the country?”

  Her brow worries, her lip twisting in her teeth as she slowly, almost imperceivably nods.

  “Ask me, baby girl,” I whisper fiercely.

  Kendall takes a shaky breath, her eyes locked on mine as she wets her pouty lips.

  “Would…” she swallows. “Marshall, would you… would you stay with me?”

  “Always.”

  I groan as I wrap her tight in my arms, lifting her off the ground and pressing her into the shelves behind her. Our mouths crush together, lips searing as I kiss her with every single thing I have. I kiss her knowing this is forever, and I kiss her knowing I’m never, ever going to let her go.

  I kiss her so hard, and so deep, and so long, that it’s not until the sound of a coffee mug shattering on the ground hits our ears that I realize we’re not alone.

  It happens in horrible, horrible slow motion. We both whirl. Kendall drops from my arms. My heart sinks, and I watch the horror spread over Amy’s face as she shakes her head side to side.

  “No,” she whispers hoarsely, her face white. “Oh my fucking God, I…” she blinks, she turns, and she runs.

  “Amy!!” I roar her name, bolting to chase her, when Kendall’s hand grabs mine tight and yanks me back.

  “Kendall—”

  “Let me,” she says, her voice broken and quiet, her face drawn. “Let me do this.”

  I swallow, and when I nod curtly, she turns and bolts after Amy, leaving me alone with my heart somewhere at my feet and my whole fucking world upside down.

  Chapter 12

  Kendall

  My heart races as I charge through the huge house, running after my friend as fast as I can.

  …Not like this.

  I’ve found something that I know is truly rare with Marshall—something incredible that just makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before. And I meant everything I said to him. I only want him. And really, I know I’ll only ever want him. I know there’s a learning experience to be had going to college, and partying, and dating, and meeting guys my age. But honestly?

  Screw that.

  I don’t want or need that learning experience. Not after I’ve found the man who just fits with me. And I might be young, but I’m not naïve. Yes, I understand a lot of that “he’s my everything” feeling stems from having just given him my virginity. And if this was just any much older guy, then yes, maybe that would be a concern. Maybe it would worry me that I’m jumping into something more serious than I should at eighteen because sex has complicated my emotions.

  But Marshall isn’t just “some older guy.” He’s not stranger, or someone new in my life. I’ve known him for almost my entire life. Not the way I do now, but he’s always been there as a part of every milestone of growing up.

  And now, he’s been there for one of the biggest ones, and I can’t imagine having done it with anyone else. And along with that, nor do I ever want to.

  But as hard and as madly as I’ve fallen for him, it can’t be if it’s at the expense of Amy. Not if us being together hurts her.

  I run out of the house, following my instincts. Her car is still in the driveway, which makes me think I’m right, so I keep going. I run past the pool, past the pool house, and through the rose gardens on the Bane estate. Past those, there’s a stand of old-growth trees up on a small hill, and that’s where I run, my lungs burning, arms pumping.

  Because as much as I’m in love with Marshall, this is my very best friend in the world we’re talking about, and there’s no way I’m going to let her get hurt by any of this.

  At the base of the tree, I spot Amy’s flip-flops, and I grin.

  Knew it.

  The wooden ladder nailed into the tree looks as old as the tree itself, but I know it’s more like ten years old. I know this because it, like the treehouse it leads to up in the branches, were built by Marshall himself when Amy and I were eight. And ever since then, it’s been our go-to place to get away from things or to escape. Sleepovers, dishing secrets, talking about boys. When Mike Little told me I was his girlfriend in seventh grade, and then I caught him holding hands with Lizzy Planter the next day at recess, this is where I came to cry—with Amy there to hold me of course. When she let Travis Itta go to second base sophomore year and then he dumped her because she wouldn’t go all the way? Yup, the treehouse.

  I look up at the big old wooden platform above me, the trapdoor closed, and I take a deep breath as I kick my shoes off.

  …It’s time to face this head on, come what may.

  I climb slowly, and when I come to the trap door, I knock.

  “Amy?”

  There’s silence, and I take a deep breath.

  “Amy, your flip-flops are here, I know you’re—”

  “Go away!” She barks. “Homewrecker!”

  I cringe, my brow crumpling before I take another shaky breath and push the trap door open.

  “Amy—”

  She glares at me, fire in her eyes before she turns, hugging her knees as she faces the wall away from me.

  “I told you to go away.”

  “Yeah, you did. But I’m not going to.”

  “Why not? I’m up here, now you’ve got the whole fucking house free to go make out with my fucking dad.”

  I climb quietly into the treehouse and close the trapdoor, pulling my knees up to my chest and hugging them.

  “Amy, I want to talk about this with you.”

  She barks out a brittle laugh.

  “Well, I don’t.”

  I look away, glancing out the pane-less window at the leaves, and through them, the house past the rose gardens.

  Fuck it.

  “I love him, Ames.”

  The words just hang in the air, and I can almost feel the tension rippling from her back. But the silence just hangs, and hangs, and hangs, until I feel like I’m going to explode.

  “Say something, please?”

  “I already did,” she snaps, her back still turned to me. She glances over her shoulder at me, her eyes narrowed. “Homewrecker.”

  The word hangs there for one second, and then, almost as if we’ve rehearsed it, the both of us suddenly just dissolve into giggles. And it’s like a dam giving way—the tension shattering as we both howl in laughter, rolling on the floor of the treehouse.

  “I don’t know why I keep saying that!” Amy cries through peals of laughter.

  “No! No, say it!” I giggle back. “Dude, call me whatever you want.”

  My laughter starts to fade, and I gasp for air, panting as I roll back upright and look at her. I chew at my lip.

  “Call me whatever you want, Ames,” I say quietly. “I deserve it.”

  She titters out one more laugh before she takes a heaving breath and curls her legs under her to sit up right. She scowls, pursing her lips.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I do. C’mon, Amy, I—”

  “You said you love him?”

  I swallow, nodding slowly. She looks away, her fingers twisting together in her lap.

  “How did it—” she makes a face and shakes her head. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know.”

  Which is good, because as much as I want
to come clean with her, I am not delving into the whole thing about secret clubs and me putting my freaking virginity up for auction.

  “It just happened, I don’t know,” I say quietly.

  Amy nods, her hands still twisting together.

  “He does seem really happy.”

  “Amy, it’s only been a few days, and I swear, I never like, planned for this to happ—”

  “But it did.” She holds my gaze. Not angry, not smiling, just neutral.

  “It did, yeah.”

  She takes a deep breath, blowing air through her lips.

  “Yeah but, he’s really happy. Happy like I haven’t seen him in a while. That shadow he’s always got hanging over his eyes is gone.” She eyes me. “Look, if this is a fling for you—”

  “It’s not.”

  “If it is, though, I don’t know if I can—”

  “It’s not,” I say icily, my pulse pounding as my eyes lock with hers.

  I swallow the heat from my face, and Amy’s lips twist as she slowly nods.

  “Better not be,” she mutters. “You hurt my dad and I swear…”

  “Not going to happen.”

  She nods, and slowly, that grin peeks at the corners of her lips.

  “Okay, this is weird.”

  I groan. “I know, and I’m so—”

  “Kendall, don’t apologize.”

  I bark a brittle laugh. “I really think I should.”

  “No, you shouldn’t. Not for loving—” she frowns. “Not for liking my dad like that.”

  “Loving,” I say quietly. And slowly, she grins.

  “Goddamnit, Kendall,” she mutters, getting to her feet and stomping over to me. She plops down in front of me and takes my hands in hers as she takes a big breath.

  “I think we’re going to be okay.”

  “We’d better be,” I say quietly. “Ames, if we’re not, I swear, this whole thing is over, today.”

  “Bullshit,” she grins. “A, I’d never ask you to do that.”

  “You wouldn’t have to.”

  She rolls her eyes. “And B, we really are going to be okay, you know.” She smiles wryly at me. “Jesus Christ I can’t believe I’m about to say even say this but are you guys gonna…” she makes a face. “Are you going to get married?”

  I blush scarlet, looking away.

  “Jesus, Amy, I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God you totally are.”

  I couldn’t stop the grin that spreads across my face even if I tried. And I do.

  Amy hoots out a laugh. “Oh God that’s so weird. No, it’s not bad weird, just weird.” She snorts. “I am not calling you mom, or stepmom, or any of that shit, okay?”

  I make a fake, pantomiming sticking a finger in my throat. “Yeah, please don’t.”

  “And let’s be clear, you’re never disciplining me, or calling me out on curfew or any of that shit. Got it?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Would you even listen if I tried to?”

  Amy gives me a look. “Take a wild guess.”

  I grin, squeezing her hand.

  “And I swear to God,” she mutters. “If I ever hear you and my dad boning, I’m going to throw the fuck up and move to Antarctica.”

  I groan, burying my face in my hands.

  “What if we never go there, conversationally. Like, ever.”

  Amy throw her hands in the air “A-fucking-men to that.”

  We look at each other, we both grin, and suddenly, we’ve got our arms around each other, hugging each other as hard as any hug has ever hugged.

  “I love you, you know,” I whisper fiercely into her shoulder.

  “I love you too, you homewrecking ho,” she giggles back.

  I laugh. “Hey!”

  Amy snorts, hugging me harder.

  “Kidding. You’re not a ho. Just a homewrecker.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t make me lower your curfew, young lady.”

  The both of us crack up again, hugging each other as we cry with laughter.

  “We’re gonna be okay,” Amy says fiercely through the giggles, hugging me close.

  “Good, cause now you’re really gonna be stuck with me.”

  Amy grins. “God, I can’t wait to buy you the most nauseatingly gushy Mother’s Day card ever.”

  Chapter 13

  Marshall

  The muggy heat hits me the second I step off the private plane into the thick Aruba afternoon. My face is grim as I shrug my suit jacket off and pass it to one of my attendants before rolling up my sleeves.

  “Welcome to paradise, buddy.”

  I grin as I look up to see Javier jumping out of the Range Rover, looking like the damn mayor of paradise in his white linen pants, sandals, and white undershirt.

  “What are you, shooting as music video for a fucking boy band?”

  He laughs, giving me the finger.

  “Hey, and fuck you too, Marshall.”

  I chuckle as I give him a hug and shake his hand.

  “Hey, you’re the one rolling up in a fucking muscle shirt. I don’t remember ordering a striper for my visit.”

  He grins, shrugging. “Hey, gotta show off the guns in this weather.”

  My eyes roll. “Guns, huh?”

  In fairness, Javier is in fantastic shape. But I’m ten years his senior, and maybe in better shape. I’m allowed to be a bit of dick about it, especially since he knows full well I’m just fucking with him.

  He claps my shoulder with a grin before he drops the keys the Range Rover into my hand.

  “Their hotel is programs into the GPS. The front desk manager’s name is Henri, and he knows you’re coming. He’s a friend.”

  Javier rubs his thumb and two fingers together as he says “friend,” and I nod.

  “Good. Thanks, Javier. You know you could’ve just done this by phone.

  He shrugs, flashing his white teeth. “True, but why pass up a trip to paradise, huh? Besides,” he winks, “you paid for it.”

  “Dick,” I chuckle, giving him another firm handshake before I jump into the Range Rover.

  “Hey, congrats, by the way.”

  I turn, arching a brow. “On?”

  Javier snorts. “My friend, word travels fast. I mean on your engagement.”

  The smile spreads across my face. “Thanks, man.”

  “And Amy’s cool with it?” He shrugs. “I mean, you marrying her friend?”

  Remember when I said Javier and I have more of a friend relationship than professional? Yeah. Needless to say, I’ve filled him in on a lot. Especially after his help with the whole thing, and with alerting the higher-ups at The Society about Bobby Vecchio and getting his ass canned.

  “Cool with it? I mean her best friend is literally moving in with us. Well, when she’s not at school.”

  “And that’s working for you? I mean her being across the country?”

  I grin widely. “You know I hate to brag, right?”

  Javier raises a brow, but when I glance over and nod my chin at the private Leer jet we’re standing next to with “Bane Financial” emblazoned across the side, he laughs.

  “Right. I guess having your own fucking jets helps.”

  “A little, yeah.”

  “So, Amy’s best friend is moving in.”

  I nod, and Javier laughs.

  “Well, you’re fucked.”

  I laugh as I start the engine to the Range Rover. “You headed back now?”

  “Hell no, man! I just got here!”

  “Alright, go flash your ‘guns,’ you fuckin’ tool.”

  Javier laughs, slapping the side of the Rover as I pull away.

  * * *

  It wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be to find Tony and Celine, but then, it wasn’t that hard either. It’s been a month since Javier gave me the evidence to take to the council at The Society about Bobby. Tony? Well, Tony was always going to be my concern to take care of, but The Society was swift to bring down the punishment on Bobby after it was made clear
that he’d abused his position to literally steal money from members. Apparently, this wasn’t the only instance of his putting his hand in the company till, either. The asshole was booted and stripped of any association with The Society for life.

  And that’s before me and a few other members went to work on him in court. Needless to say, the man has faded away. Good fucking riddance.

  But that brings me to Tony, which is what brings me to Aruba. Celine Shaw is, from what I and my investigators can tell, just an ignorant tagalong in all of this. From what I’ve pieced together, she truly has no idea how badly Tony has screwed the pooch with her late husband’s money. She knows there are some hiccups, but God only knows how Tony has spun that to gaslight her.

  That shit ends right now though.

  Henri, the front desk manager at the resort they’re staying at, leaves me at their front door with a nod, along with a refusal when I try to palm him some cash.

  “Mr. Luca has already taken care of it, thank you, Mr. Bane.”

  I insist anyways, and when he finally graciously takes the money and bows away, I turn my attention to the door. This is no cheap hotel either. The resort is a luxury spot, with rooms running in the thousands per night. I shake my head. Tony’s probably just running one credit card fraud into another right now, trying to beat the clock and string Celine along for as long as he can. But like I said…

  That’s ending right now. I raise a fist, and I knock.

  There’s the sound of footsteps, and purposefully turn away from the door, betting that Tony uses the eyehole to peer through.

  “What is it?”

  “Room service, Mr. Gold.”

  “Mr. Gold” is Tony’s hilariously unsubtle fake name he’s been using to check in to resorts.

  “I didn’t order—”

  “Champagne,” I hold up a bottle, my face still turned. “Compliments of the management.”

  “Well fuckin-a!”

  The door unlocks, and the second it swings open, I’m whirling, and I’m on him. Tony shrieks, stumbling backwards as I charge into him, shoving him into the room, storming in, and slamming the door shut behind me.

  He pales as I advance on him, stumbling back into the sumptuous suite just as Celine steps out of the bedroom. Her eyes go wide.

 

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